


Nomad & Bucky

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Comics)
Genre: Costumes, Humor, M/M, Steve is long-suffering, bucky's really amused, halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve made some poor costume choices in the 1970s. Bucky thinks it's hilarious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nomad & Bucky

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
> Author’s Note: Have you seen the Nomad costume? No? Go look. I'll wait. Are you done laughing? Bucky isn't, either. Happy Halloween, Bucky/Steve shippers!

Bucky is laughing in the living room. Steve pokes his head through the kitchen doorway, half-smiling, eager to find out what's got Bucky in such a good mood.

"What's so funny?"

On the couch, Bucky looks up from the S.H.I.E.L.D. file open on his lap. He's grinning and there are tears in his too-bright eyes. "Man, the seventies were a really confusing time for you, weren't they?"

Steve's face falls. "Oh, no." No. No one would be so cruel they'd give Bucky his Nomad files. Would they? And who would do that?

Bucky lifts a glossy full-color photo from the file and holds it out. "Did Sam help you design it?"

Eyes closed in abject humiliation, Steve ducks back into the kitchen. "Nixon was a terrorist," he grumbles, as if that can explain the cape, the colors, and the deep, deep V of the top half of the costume.

Leather creaks in the living room and when Bucky pads across the wood floor, he remembers to make noise. He comes around the corner into the kitchen, file still in hand; it doesn't matter, Steve can't look at him.

The Captain America costume is pretty ridiculous, he's willing to admit. Short-shorts and tights are bad enough. Nomad, however...

"How did showing off your fabulous pecs help in that fight? And the cape. _Steve._ The _cape_."

Steve makes a face. "The cape was a bad idea." He shakes his head. "I even tripped on it."

Bucky starts laughing again. Steve's face heats--the seventies were worse than confusing, but Bucky doesn't need to know that--but he can't be mad. It's so good to hear Bucky laughing like that. He doesn't care that it's at his expense.

"Do you still have it?"

Steve shifts his weight and doesn't look at him. He should have thrown it away or burned it or something, but he never had the heart. He lost so much of his past that he couldn't let go even of _that_.

Bucky gasps. "You do, don't you?" And he's gone. Off like a shot, out of the kitchen, through the living room, straight to the bedroom.

Steve chases him. "Buck, no!" It's bad enough in photos--it's so, so much worse in reality.

"Buck, _yes_." Bucky's voice comes muffled.

Steve's heart is sinking even before he makes it to the bedroom, where the closet is open and Bucky's backside sticks out past the door.

"It's in here somewhere. It has to be."

Steve sighs. He knows he's losing this, but he can't give up. "Come on, Buck, please just let it go."

" _No_." Bucky draws out the vowel. "You don't understand how much I need to see this, Steve."

Bucky's so gleeful. Steve sits on the edge of the bed and tries not to put his head in his hands or think about what had really gone on. For a moment, he wonders what Bucky would think of him if he knew the truth of how bad it really had been.

His voice doesn't even sound like himself when he says, "Come out of there, come on. Please don't--"

Bucky emerges, small plastic storage box in hand and a wide grin on his face. He looks like a kid again, eighteen years old with a knapsack full of Hershey's bars won in poker games across the camp. His eyes are brighter than his smile when he looks at Steve. "You have to put it on."

Steve sets his jaw. He'll do a lot to keep Bucky smiling, but putting that thing on again? "No."

Bucky pouts. Now he looks fourteen, with his hair falling over his forehead like that. It's not fair at all. It's even less fair when he says, "Please?"

It's physically painful to deny Bucky anything, but Steve has his limits. He shakes his head. "No."

Bucky looks at him, thoughtful for the span of several heartbeats. Steve starts to hope that maybe this is the end, maybe Bucky sees something Steve is unwilling to say. He's not so lucky. Bucky steps forward and Steve parts his knees so Bucky can stand between his thighs. He drops the plastic bin to the bed beside Steve and reaches to push his fingers through Steve's hair. Steve tips his head back and Bucky looks down at him, teasing smile on his lips.

"If you put it on, I'll do _anything_ you want."

Sex drips from Bucky's voice and Steve's not immune. His pulse jumps and his gut twists. Still, it's not much incentive--he already knows Bucky will do whatever he wants. He turns his face to kiss the inside of Bucky's wrist as he thinks about it. A wicked thought crosses his mind.

"You could put on _your_ old costume."

Bucky recoils as if Steve had hit him. " _What?!_ Oh, that's a dirty play, Rogers."

Steve smiles serenely. "I'll wear the Nomad costume, Buck, but you have to put on your old costume. I know you kept the one Crazy Cap gave you."

Bucky's eyes narrow, but his expression is carefully blank. Steve knows he's seeing the man the Winter Soldier's victims don't see and it sends a thrill down his spine. It shouldn't, but there it is, and he wants to pull Bucky down onto the bed and forget the whole mess. He waits, though. He waits for Bucky to tell him no deal.

Steve feels very proud of himself.

Until Bucky surprises him with a smile and, "All right."

Steve blinks. "What?"

"All right. Actually-- You know what? We'll go to Tony's party. In costume. Ah--" He holds up a hand before Steve can even mount a protest. "That cowboy getup is getting _really_ old. You go as Nomad. I'll go as Cap's kid sidekick. First one who asks to leave has to clean the gym for a month."

Steve frowns. "No."

Bucky just grins at him. "What's the matter, Steve? Worried your friends will laugh your ass out of the party?" He runs his metal fingers through Steve's hair. "I look _good_ in tights and booty shorts, old man. Think you can measure up?"

Steve suddenly feels like everything in his life has gone very, very wrong.

*

Two weeks later, Steve still feels like things have gone terribly wrong. He rides the elevator up through Stark Tower, tugging his gloves tight and adjusting the... mask? What the hell is it and what the hell had he been thinking?

He hasn't seen Bucky since early this morning. All he's gotten are the goading text messages and the reminder that if he backed out, he was forfeiting the bet. Steve doesn't back down or out, not from bullies, not from HYDRA, and not from Bucky.

That's why he steps out of the elevator into Tony's penthouse. If he's silently praying to God that no one recognizes him, well, that's his business.

Prayer is futile. Camera flashes blind him before the elevator doors even close. When his vision clears, Bucky's standing right in front of him in full costume from the domino mask to the pirate boots, and he was right. He looks _good_. Even with that damned shit-eating grin on his face.

Steve frowns. "We didn't say anything about pictures."

"I need them for posterity." Bucky rakes his eyes over Steve from his hair to his boots and back. His grin widens.

Normally, Steve loves that look on Bucky's face. Tonight, he just wants to shrink back down to his skinny former self and disappear into the seams between the marble slabs. He scowls. He can feel eyes on him now--Tony's, Sharon's, even Natasha's and Sam's. He takes a deep, deep breath and forces himself to unclench his fingers.

"Where is Thor and what did he bring? I need a drink."

Bucky's smile is all cheeks and teeth. He steps aside. "He was at the bar last time I saw him. Have fun, _Nomad_." He turns to search the crowd and looks like he's about to start off.

Steve's frown deepens. "Where are _you_ going?"

Bucky flashes him a naughty grin over his shoulder. "Nat wants to dance. Guess she likes the shorts. Come find me when you're ready to leave."

Steve's shoulders stiffen. "You come find _me_."

Bucky winks and then he's gone, leaving Steve to his own devices.

Steve heads for the bar. He doesn't see Thor, but that doesn't mean much, and even if there's nothing special from Asgard on the menu, Steve thinks he can drink enough and fast enough to forget what he's wearing. Maybe.

He's leaning on his elbows against the bar, shoulders hunched, when Sharon slides up beside him. She's in skin-tight black, her suit sealed all the way to her throat. If he had to guess, he'd say she'd used eyeliner to draw on the whiskers. The little cat-ear headband probably came from the drugstore just before she showed up. She runs her hand along the cape and gives him a sharp smile.

"Lose a bet?"

He scowls. "I'm trying to win one."

Sharon laughs and lifts on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. The simple touch eases the tension from his shoulders and he half-turns to face her. The instant her eyes sweep down his front and her smile takes on a dark edge, he regrets it.

"My eyes are up here," he snaps, then grumbles, "It's nothing you haven't seen before."

"No," she agrees, "but it's never been dressed up so pretty." There's false sweetness in her smile.

She laughs at him when he scowls again and she leans against him. "It's not so bad, Steve. The cape's a bit much, but the rest of it--it's no worse than Sam's." Her eyes slide across the room, her smile taking on a softer edge.

He doesn't think she ever smiled like that for him, and he thinks he should feel something. Happy for her is really all he does feel. He follows her gaze across the room, to Sam playing poker at a table in the corner with Rhodey, Carol, and Jessica--at least, he thinks that's Carol and Jess, he can't be sure through the masks. Sam, though, he definitely recognizes. His frown eases and he bumps Sharon gently with his shoulder.

"How are things?"

Her expression shifts between happiness, confusion, and irritation before she schools it into something carefully neutral. "He's nicer when you're sleeping with him." She glances at Steve from the corner of her eye. "Did you know that? Of course you did. _I_ didn't know he _could_ be nicer. You should have warned me." She sighs and looks at him again. "How're things with Bucky?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "Do you see what he tricked me into wearing?" He eyes her then. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

Sharon cocks an eyebrow. "I'm a cat."

That's what he thought. "You didn't even _try_ , did you?"

Sharon sniffs and juts her chin forward. "We don't all have psychedelic nightmares stored in our closets, Cap." Something catches her eye in the middle of the room while Steve is wincing. "I'm going to see if Nat'll let me cut in. Is Bucky going to hurt me if I grab his ass?"

Steve chokes on his own spit, but doesn't get the chance to answer. Sharon melts into the crowd. Steve stares after her, then spots Bucky on the makeshift dance floor with his arms around Natasha. There's not space enough for a sheet of paper between them. Steve scowls and turns away. He doesn't begrudge Bucky the dance. He just begrudges Bucky the ease with which he wears his old costume.

So he sat at the bar and he finished two bottles of good Irish whiskey before he felt anything even close to a buzz. Mostly, he thinks as he stares morosely at the empty bottle, he just needs to pee. He hadn't kept his eyes off Bucky for long. Steve is reasonably sure that Bucky had danced with every woman present--and based on the way Bucky had grinned and laughed and moved, Steve assumes that every one of them had groped him.

He isn't jealous. In fact, he's glad Bucky seems to be having a good time. He just wishes he didn't have to be wearing this getup to be present for it.

Sighing, Steve heaves himself up. After a quick glance at the dance floor--Bucky has Carol on one arm and Jess on the other now, their masks off, and all three of them are laughing--he heads for the bathroom. He isn't giving in, not yet, but he can feel his resolve weakening.

 _I can't,_ he thinks. _Bucky can't win. Not this._

He's washing his hands in the bathroom when the lock clicks and the door swings open. He glances up, frowning, and then scowling when Bucky slips into the room and locks the door behind himself.

"Having fun?"

"So much." Bucky grins. "Jess has really sticky hands."

Steve scowls.

Bucky laughs at him. "Aw, what's wrong? Not having any fun, Nomad?"

"Shut up, Buck."

"Make me."

Steve turns to face him instead of looking at him through the mirror. He sees the kid Bucky was back in '44, and it's almost more than he can handle. He doesn't think Bucky has come close to having so much fun in all the time Steve has known him. His expression softens and if there's a little bit of sadness in him, well, he can't help that.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." He means it.

Bucky crosses the bathroom floor. "You know what I'd enjoy more?"

Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. Leave it to Bucky to ruin a moment. "When did you get a costume fetish?"

Bucky crowds him back against the edge of the counter and runs a gloved hand down Steve's exposed chest from collarbones to navel. "When I saw you in _this_ costume." He cups Steve through the thin blue-black spandex and sighs. "You wanna?"

That's not a fair question at all. He _always_ wants to. He puts his hands on Bucky's arms and spreads his legs so Bucky can get a thigh between his.

Bucky leans in to kiss him.

His lips are warm and soft and his tongue is hot. Steve kisses back. He forgets what he's wearing, forgets what Bucky's wearing. It's easy to forget everything in moments like this. Then Bucky runs gloved fingers down his chest again and doesn't stop. He opens the belt and sticks his hand down the front of the costume to close those gloved fingers around Steve's half-hard cock. He _pulls_.

"God, Buck," he groans.

Bucky grins against his mouth.

Steve holds on to him while Bucky lifts his cock out of the costume, while he jerks him off. Steve has a thigh between Bucky's and feels Bucky rutting against his hip. He lets his brain shut down and focuses on this, on the heat between them, on Bucky's firm grip, on the delicious friction. Bucky presses wet open-mouth kisses to Steve's neck, to the bare skin of his chest. Steve's fingers tighten on Bucky's shoulders and when he comes, it's with a deep groan into Bucky's mouth as he spills over red gloves.

Bucky's tongue flicks out. He bites at Steve's bottom lip. "My turn," he breathes. He takes Steve's hand to the front of his shorts. He's hard, hot, straining against the shorts.

But Steve has a better idea. He shifts until Bucky shuffles back, turns them both, and pushes until Bucky's against the counter. Steve meets his eyes as he sinks to his knees.

Heat flares in Bucky's eyes. He licks his lips. "I knew it."

Steve looks up at him as he opens Bucky's belt and then his shorts. "What did you know?" he rasps.

Bucky puts his fingers in Steve's hair and drops his head back. Steve peels the shorts and the tights down to his thighs and Bucky groans.

"I knew _you_ couldn't resist the shorts, either."

Steve mouths at his dick from tip to base and over his balls. He mumbles, "You've got plenty of admirers," right before he swallows Bucky's cock.

Bucky gasps.

It's long moments before Bucky has anything else to say. Steve is merciless, licking, sucking, taking in the whole length of Bucky's dick and swallowing over and over until Bucky comes down his throat, hot and salty and with a cry that echoes through the bathroom.

Steve stands, wiping his mouth with the back of one bright yellow glove. Bucky fists his hands in the front of the costume and hauls him into a deep, messy kiss.

When they break, he says, "You're not off the hook. A blowjob ain't gonna settle the bet, pal." His blue eyes are shining.

Steve grins at him. "I'll win, buddy. Give it up now."

It's a draw.

Well past when the bars have closed, Steve is on the couch with his back to the magnificent view of Manhattan, watching Bucky dirty dance with Tony's date. Tony is finishing his drink, glaring daggers. When the song ends--something slow and funky Steve doesn't have a name for--Tony orders the DJ to pack up for the night. He stalks over to Steve.

Bucky and the brunette are entirely unconcerned with the lack of music.

"Your boyfriend needs to get his hands off my date," Tony says.

Steve glances from Tony to Bucky and the woman--Bucky with his back to her and a smile on his face as he moves, the woman with both hands on his ass and laughter falling from her lips. Steve smirks at Tony.

"Looks like your date's got her hands all over my boyfriend."

Tony looks like he'd like to shoot Steve.

Steve goes on, "It's the shorts," as if he's trying to be helpful. "You should probably find out where he got them. Dames love the booty shorts, Stark."

"I never would have figured you'd be so relaxed about that," Tony says, waving a hand at the scene on the empty dance floor.

Steve shrugs. "I know where he's sleeping tonight." And he knows that no matter how much Bucky loves him--no matter how much he loves Bucky--some things won't change.

Bucky Barnes is a flirt.

Tony huffs. "Not here. You two are officially kicked out."

Chuckling, Steve stands. "I'll let him know. Thanks for the party."

"You're never invited to another party again," Tony says seriously.

Steve can't blame him. Especially not when he goes to Bucky, who is trying to convince the DJ to play just one more song when Steve taps his shoulder.

"Tony says we have to go."

The brunette at Bucky's elbow pouts. "Aww."

Bucky glances down at her, grinning. "I think he's jealous."

She seems to remember herself in that moment. Steve feels a little sorry for her--he knows what a good time Bucky can be--but not too sorry, especially not when she looks back at Tony. She sighs and says to Bucky, "It was fun."

"It sure was, sweetheart." He ducks to brush a chaste kiss to the top of her cheek. He shoots a smug smile at Tony. "Thanks for the party, Stark."

"You're never invited to another one of my parties, Barnes," Tony says.

Steve laughs. Bucky gives him an indulgent smile.

They're in the elevator, nearly to the ground floor, when Bucky grabs his hand and squeezes. "I like that blue Mr. Clean, the one that smells like a meadow or whatever?" He shakes his head. "No vinegar. I hate it when you use vinegar."

Steve frowns, bewildered. "All right?"

The elevator dings and the doors open. Bucky tugs him out onto the first floor. "For when you clean the gym," he says helpfully.

Steve rolls his eyes. He waits until they're outside to point out, "I didn't lose, Buck."

"You said we had to leave. You lose."

They're starting for the subway station and Steve doesn't let go of Bucky's hand. He doesn't have to and he definitely doesn't want to. The night is chilly and the street is nearly empty. A few cabs roll by, but Steve doesn't think they'd be able to catch one, not dressed as they are, not even on Halloween.

" _Tony_ kicked us out," he reminds Bucky.

"But _you_ told _me_."

Steve sighs. "I didn't lose. If anything, you lost--you're the one who got us kicked out."

Bucky waves his free hand dismissively. He makes a face. "Stark's just jealous he doesn't have the gams for tights like we do."

Steve snorts.

Before he can say anything, a voice from the shadows mocks Bucky's use of slang. The two of them pause and half a dozen thugs swarm from the mouth of an alley. Standard thugs, Steve thinks; just young men in dark clothes, with angry faces and knuckles bruised and scarred from a lifetime of fighting.

Bucky laughs. "Move along, fellas." He doesn't let go of Steve's hand.

"Big talk from a fag in tights," one of them sneers. Steve can't even tell which one.

Bucky glances at Steve, eyes glittering.

Steve sighs. "Buck, no."

Bucky grins. "He doesn't like my tights, Steve."

"Bucky..."

One of the thugs approaches, a narrow sharp blade in his hand catching the light from a nearby streetlamp. Steve really wishes he hadn't pulled a knife. That's just going to offend Bucky. Bucky's mean when he's offended.

"Got something to say, pretty boy?"

Bucky agrees amiably, "You are pretty."

Steve scowls at him. " _You_ are not helping." He turns back to the thugs. "Come on, guys, just let us pass. We're going to miss our train. Go on home and give it up for the night."

One of the others pipes up, "Who the fuck are you supposed to be, anyway?"

Steve is ready to say "nobody" when Bucky strikes a heroic pose with his chest thrust out and his fists on his hips. "Masked vigilantes, of course!"

"City's got enough of those." Steve isn't sure which one says that, but the way the six of them close in a little more is unmistakable.

He frowns. "I wouldn't if I were you."

"What're you going to do? Fly away?"

It's a short fight. Really, it's not even a fight. One moment, the six of them are advancing, and the next moment, the sidewalk is littered with unconscious small-time thugs and Bucky is wiping his bloody gloved knuckles down the front of his top, glaring at Steve.

"The boob window is nice," he says, "but I _hate_ the cape."

Steve scowls, hoping the shadows hide his fierce blush. "I'm sorry. I haven't fought in this thing in nearly forty years." He shoves the cape back to fish in one of the pockets of his utility belt for his mobile phone.

"Yeah, I bet you weren't any good at it then, either."

Steve sighs. The novelty of Bucky's amusement has worn off. "I'm going to call the police now."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky mutters. He stoops to pick up the fallen switchblade, grumbling under his breath, "Cap never blinded me with a fuckin' _yellow cape_."

Gritting his teeth, Steve dials the NYPD. After a brief conversation, he ends the call and jerks his head toward the train station. "Come on," he says. "We'll go in tomorrow to give our statements."

Bucky kicks at one thug's limp arm. "Are you sure it's safe to leave them like this? What if they--"

Sirens wail and tires screech and Steve is already jogging toward the subway. "Come on, Buck. Let the cops handle it. We did our job."

Bucky's laughter rings out, louder than the sirens. "You don't want to be seen!"

Steve's glad Bucky can't see him blushing.

Not that it does him much good. When they're in the car, standing together, holding on to one of the poles, Bucky just grins at him.

"What?" Steve snaps. He's sick of being looked at that way.

"Are you _ashamed_ of the costume, Steve?" The tone of Bucky's voice tells Steve he's enjoying this way too much.

But it's worth it when they're home, finally, and Bucky is licking his way from Steve's neck to his navel, when his hands are hot on Steve's hips and his breath is ragged. Steve puts his hands in Bucky's hair and he thinks of all the smiles, of all the laughter he heard, and he thinks he won't get rid of it, after all.


End file.
